**The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.**
25. Strength and Surrender
Two warnings for this chapter: 1) LLWB has issued a tissue warning—just passing that along. 2) The heat level rises here. People sensitive to citrus—even my non-descriptive brand—be forewarned.
Chapter songs:
**Give Me Strength – Snow Patrol
**Already Over - Red
**Dance With the Devil – Breaking Benjamin
(So, Simon is singing a certain song here that I DO NOT LOVE, but it fit him. Forgive me.)
**Fade Away – Breaking Benjamin (yes, two by them this time!)
**In My Veins – Andrew Belle
Pale purple light streamed through a gap in the curtains as Jace opened his eyes. The thin beam expanded larger and larger as it meandered across the space, growing so big that by the time it fell upon him, it illuminated the entire bed. The color gave the room a hazy, dreamlike feel, which made Jace wonder if he actually weren't awake at all. He blinked several times, caught in that just out of sleep state where he didn't quite know where he was, and then reached up to rub his eyes. When he opened them once more, everything appeared the same.
Unfamiliar surroundings took shape in the waning light. Dark, heavy curtains hung over a small, square window. An alarm clock with bright red lights glared out at him from a battered, wooden nightstand. He lay horizontally on a full-sized mattress—his feet nearly dangling off the side—on top of a heavy, dark-colored patchwork quilt. Something small and warm curled up next to him. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion had finally taken over. It took him a moment to remember that he was at Luke's, and that the unmoving figure in his arms was Clary.
He lowered his gaze to her sleeping face, the ethereal cast from the window making her skin look like porcelain. Reaching up, he lightly trailed his fingers over her cheeks and across her lips. They fell open slightly as he passed, the heat of her breath warming his hand. He pulled away, not wanting to wake her when the look on her face seemed so peaceful. Still, he couldn't help but stare. Not just because she was beautiful, but because he could, and he didn't know how much longer that statement would be true.
Soft strands of fiery red framed her small face. A smattering of freckles dotted her nose, and he wanted to lean down and kiss each one. Her breath rose and fell, slowly, rhythmically, as her eyes moved under her lids. Dreaming. She was always dreaming. The last thing he wanted to do was to crash those dreams, bringing with him the nightmare he'd endured. But he would.
The moment of inevitability fell around him, weighing in on Jace until he could hardly breathe. He knew it was coming, from the beginning, it had been a guarantee. But now that it was here, he wasn't ready. Not for any of it, but especially not to lose her.
Jace wished he could stay there, in that moment, for the rest of forever. Just lying there, looking into her face and feeling her secure in his arms. But, he knew it couldn't be. Finally, he had to make himself remember it. It had taken his talk with Hodge to make him realize, to make him see how dangerous a situation he was in. On one hand, he had this girl, this beautiful, kind, amazing girl, who he would give anything for. Do anything to keep safe. And on the other, he had his job—something he would give up in a heartbeat for her. But that was where the lines blurred. This time, his job was her. Her family, her safety, her life. As much as he wanted it, wanted her, he could not have it.
Hodge made him realize that no matter how he felt about Clary, his priority had to be the case. It had to be that way because it was the only way he could protect her.
Jace closed his eyes and curled in around her, his hands gripping her back and his face buried in her hair, letting himself just have this. This one last sliver of time to truly be with her. To let himself feel everything he wanted to feel, with no shame, or regret, or fear. Because, in this room in a house far from the life they both lived, lying side-by-side in a stream of dying day, this last moment belonged only to them.
.o.O.o.
Clary fidgeted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Isabelle and Simon droned on and on in the backseat, finding something new to disagree on every few minutes. As annoying as it was, at least it was something. If they weren't there, she wasn't sure she would have survived the ride home.
Something changed that last night at Luke's. Clary didn't know how or why, but knew that something had. The way Jace had clung to her, desperate, almost as if he feared it would be the last time he'd ever hold her, stuck with her in a nagging, permanent way. His hands had curled into her skin, digging in possessively, but not in the way they had in the past. It was not passionate and filled with need. It radiated torment. Something was wrong, very, very wrong, and she couldn't figure out what. Everything had been fine, and then it . . . wasn't.
Since then, Jace had been unusually quiet. He hadn't participated in the conversations going on around him, nor had he really touched her. Isabelle and Simon seemed oblivious, continuing on with their banter as if no one else were in the car. But, Clary noticed. She snuck peeks at Jace every few minutes, and he was always the same. Face sullen, eyes forward. It was almost as if he'd reconstructed one of the invisible walls he'd had around himself when they'd first met. Was he pushing her away? If so, why? What had she done?
When they arrived back at the apartment, Jace grabbed both his bag and hers from the trunk. She tried to take her own, but he shrugged her off, knocking her fingers away from his shoulder.
"I've got it," he said, his voice flat and low. His eyes never connected with hers as he turned toward the building.
Clary stared after him, watching as his frame disappeared through the door. Her spine prickled with apprehension.
"What's his problem?" Simon asked, hiking the strap of his bag over his shoulder and stopping beside Clary.
She just shook her head and swallowed against the unease creeping up her throat.
"Don't worry about it," Isabelle said, slamming the trunk to the car shut.
Clary spun to face her. "Why shouldn't I worry about it?"
Isabelle slipped her arms through the straps of her backpack. "Because, he's just having a guy moment. He'll get over it."
"A guy moment? What's that? I've never had one of those before," Simon said.
"That's because you're not a guy," Isabelle said.
Simon huffed and opened his mouth to retort, but Clary interrupted. "How do you know he'll get over it? Do you know what's going on?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "But I know him, and Jace is . . . moody sometimes."
Clary glanced back at the door Jace had gone through, pondering Isabelle's suggestion. "You think that's all it is?" She looked back at her roommate with uncertainty. "You think he's just being moody?"
"Sure." Isabelle shrugged and averted her gaze.
Clary didn't miss the flash in Isabelle's eyes as she turned away. The front door to the building opened once more, and Jace strolled out sans both bags. Simon cleared his throat and motioned at Isabelle for the two of them to start toward the door. She followed reluctantly.
Jace stopped in front of Clary, his eyes focused on the set of keys in his hand. They jingled as he moved them anxiously with his fingers. "I'm going to go return the car. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Clary frowned. "You're not coming over later?" She felt her heart sink, but tried to remind herself of what Isabelle said. Maybe he was just in a funk. Maybe this wasn't about her at all.
"No," he said, still not looking at her. "I've got to be up early tomorrow, and I don't usually end up getting much sleep when I stay with you." Finally he met her gaze, a sly grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. Clary noticed how it didn't reach his eyes. They were still strained. Still vacant.
"Are you sure?" She stepped forward, reaching for his hand. He stiffened minutely when she touched him. "I can behave. I promise."
"You may be able to behave, but I'm not so sure I can." He bent and touched his lips to her cheek. She turned her face to catch his mouth, but he moved away before she could. It almost seemed intentional and left a hollow feeling in her chest. "Later, baby," he whispered.
As he turned to move away, Clary tightened her grip on his hand. "Jace."
He froze with his back to her.
"Will you just tell me one thing?"
His shoulders rose and fell like it took everything he had to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths. "Yeah?"
She squeezed his fingers and whispered, "Did I do or say something? If I did . . . just tell me."
He pivoted slowly, and when she saw his face, she noticed his brows were pulled together and creases lined his forehead. Many would take that look to mean confusion, but Clary knew his face, and this look was not puzzlement, it was restraint. What he was restraining from, she had no idea. "Why would you think that?"
"It's just," Clary let out a slow breath, "you seem to be avoiding me, and I wondered if it was because of something I did."
Jace closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head as he stepped closer, taking her face into his hands. When their eyes met, he stared into her, his gaze intense. "You didn't do anything. I'm just . . . I'm a little off. Okay?" His fingers slid across her cheek, lightly tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Everything's fine."
Clary nodded, shivering at his touch and wanting to believe he was being sincere. He smiled, barely even a twitch of his mouth, and leaned in. She closed her eyes, anticipating his kiss. But when it came, it brushed the tip of her nose and then the edge of her jaw, leaving her lips cold and untouched. Slowly, she opened her eyes only to see him backing away and turning toward the car. Her arms stayed outstretched for a few seconds, aching to just have him back again, and not understanding why they'd felt nearly as empty when he was still in them. It was almost as if she were holding a shell of him, instead of the whole thing.
Her gaze followed as Jace walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat without looking back at her. The engine revved and the brake lights glowed red. Clary heard the transmission shift into gear, and the car pulled away from the curb. She crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to hold in her heart and protect it from the cold threatening to invade her as she watched the taillights fade into the distance.
.o.O.o.
Jace growled in frustration when his back hit the mat for the third time since he and Alec started sparring. He rolled over and punched it, his fist sinking into the soft cushion before hiking himself to his feet. His breath came ragged and his body ached in places it had never ached before. This didn't make sense. Alec never beat him. Never.
"If you're not feeling up to it, we can quit for now," Alec offered.
Jace stopped and glared at him. "Just set back up." He pointed to the center markings and took his spot. Rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck, he took in a breath and released it slowly, setting his stance. "I'm ready."
Alec sighed. "Jace, we don't have to—"
"I said I'm ready."
"I'm not doing this right now." Alec turned and made his way back to the bench lining the wall and plopped down, taking a sip from his water bottle.
Jace raised his hands to his hair, gripping it hard in his fists. "I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.
Alec shook his head. "You're not. And you haven't been since you got back from Luke's three days ago." He stood and stretched his arm across his chest. "I haven't asked because I know how you are about your privacy, but don't think I haven't noticed how you've been avoiding phone calls and sleeping in your own bed every night."
Jace pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. "It's . . . complicated."
"It's not complicated. You're pulling away. It's what you do."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Alec picked up a hand towel and wiped the sweat from his face. "You only let people get so close. Me. Isabelle. But this girl . . . Clary . . . you've let her in, and now you're running."
"I'm not running."
Alec raised a brow. "Oh, yeah? What do you call it, then?"
Jace dropped his hands to his side. "I call it cutting my losses. I call it not making it any worse. I call it . . ."
"Running," Alec said.
"I'm doing what I have to do, Alec. What I should have done awhile ago," Jace said. "You know it and I know it. It's all going to be over soon anyway."
Alec nodded. "The case will be, yes. But, whatever you've got going on with the girl won't."
Jace moved over to the bench and sat, his eyes focused on the scuffed wooden floor beneath his feet. "Yes, it will," he said quietly, his voice containing more vulnerability than he was comfortable with. He cleared his throat and infused his words with as much nonchalance as he could muster. "It'll be easier on everyone if it's already on its way to ending beforehand."
"You don't really believe that, do you?" Alec sat next to Jace.
"I don't know what I believe anymore." He cocked his head and met Alec's blue eyes. They studied him with a certain amount of understanding. Jace let his guard down slightly. "I thought I knew everything before. I thought I could come in here and do this and just leave it behind. And that's exactly what I tried to do. But . . . I didn't expect . . . her."
"And you think she expected you?"
Jace frowned. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side. You are my partner, after all."
"This is being on your side," Alec gestured to himself. "Telling you the truth and not letting you delude yourself into thinking separating yourself is going to make any of this easier."
"I'll tell you what will make this easier." Jace stood. "Punching you at least a dozen times is a good start."
"And here we go with the avoiding again."
"It's not avoiding," Jace glanced over his shoulder to make sure Alec was following him onto the mat. "It's a proven fact that hitting things helps relieve stress."
Alec sighed and took his place across from Jace. "Are you ever going to tell me what triggered this? I figure I at least deserve an explanation as to why you'd like to beat me up."
"I wasn't aware I needed a reason for that." Jace lunged for Alec, just missing him as Alec spun away. He grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline surge through his veins. Earlier, he hadn't been able to keep his mind from Clary and the talk he'd had with Hodge several days before. As much as Jace hadn't wanted to hear it, Hodge was right. There was no way he could continue on the way he was and still manage to finish out this case. He couldn't be an Agent and be with Clary—not in the way he wanted to. The side of him that wanted to protect her conflicted with the one that needed to do or say anything to get what the Agency needed. He needed to pull back, to distance his feelings from his job. Just a few more days. That's all, a few more days.
Alec shot out, clipping Jace in the shoulder, but not before Jace landed one right to Alec's side. Alec grunted and jumped back, one hand on his ribs. Jace felt fire shoot through him, and a sense of rightness penetrated the dark.
"So, we're doing this for real now?" Alec asked with a strained voice, straightening and shaking off Jace's blow.
"Looks like it."
"Are you sure you can take another beating?"
Jace paused and raised a brow. "Since when do you talk trash?"
"Since I landed you on your back three times already today."
"Ahh, well, consider that my gift to you, because there's no way you're getting me down again."
Alec grinned, and Jace returned the gesture. He let all of his earlier thoughts and worries melt away as he absorbed himself in the sparring match. Here, in this place, it wasn't lies and tip-toeing and guilt. It was just him and Alec doing what they'd always done—training. As much as Jace didn't know what to do with everything else, one thing was for certain, he was damn good at this, and he was going to prove it.
Alec kept his distance, circling Jace just as Jace circled him. They held their hands loose and in front of them, ready to grab or defend if necessary. Jace watched for any sign that Alec might be ready to move. Mostly, he kept his gaze on the patch of skin just above Alec's left brow. It always twitched when he was about to do something. Alec knew about this tell and tried desperately to keep it in check. But there was no use, Jace saw it as soon as it happened—just a tiny, barely noticeable twitch.
He braced himself, his muscles tensed and ready. Alec jabbed with his fist. Jace caught it, wrapped his hands around it, and twisted until he had Alec up against his back. With one jerk, Alec tumbled over Jace's shoulder and landed with a thud on the mat. His breath escaped in a whoosh. Relief and confidence flooded through Jace at the knowledge that he still had it.
He needed this. Needed to feel powerful and superior again. With everything that was happening, all he ever felt was weak and loathsome. When he was with Clary, allowing her to love him and for him to love her back, he felt a semblance of strength. But it was a different kind of strength. Lately though, the only thing he knew was regret. Regret for letting himself get in so deep. Regret for all the ways he was going to hurt her in the days to come. Regret that he couldn't even look back and wish he'd done anything different. Because God help him, he didn't. If he had it to do all over again, if he had the choice to change the way he'd allowed himself to give in, he wouldn't alter a damn thing.
But, he was tired of looking weak, of feeling weak. So, for just a moment, he was going to allow himself to be the old him. The him that believed being an Agent was the most important thing in the world. The him who knew, without a doubt, that he was the best. For just these very short seconds, that was who he was. And to be honest, he liked it. The power. Security. Confidence.
Jace leaned over Alec and smiled, feeling that same rush flow over him once more. "Again?"
Alec rolled onto his side and groaned.
.o.O.o.
Clary awoke to the sound of Simon singing, and the faint smell of something burning. She stretched her arms above her head, her hand hitting the hard edge of the couch. Sitting up, she stifled a yawn and peered in the direction his voice was coming from. She saw him through the kitchen doorway, his head bobbing and hips swaying awkwardly. Smiling, she stood and moved across the living room, stopping just under the archway, her brows raised in amusement.
Simon had a big tub of ready-made cookie dough sitting out on the counter. A hand-towel draped over his shoulder and big of globs of cookie dough were spaced unevenly over a cookie sheet. The timer on the stove went off and Simon rushed over to it, opening the door and waving his hand in front of his face when a big plume of smoke cascaded out.
"Oh, crap!" he said, grabbing a kitchen chair and immediately fanning the screaming smoke detector on the ceiling.
Clary rushed into the kitchen, grabbing a pot holder and removing the tray of blackened cookies from the oven. She grabbed another towel and flung it back and forth waving the cloud away. Once it had dissipated, she reached up and turned the temperature down from four seventy-five to three seventy-five.
"What in the world are you doing?" she asked finally, turning to him.
"Making cookies," Simon said, his arms hanging limp at his sides as he still stood on the rickety, wooden chair. His hair stuck up all over his head as if he'd been running his fingers through it continuously. Clary even thought she spied a bit of dough stuck in some of it.
She motioned for him to get down and to come to her. He obliged, pushing the chair back under the table and stepping in front of her. Clary sighed and pulled against his shoulder so he was bent at the waist, his head even with her eyes. Lifting a hand, she began to pick at the drying dough crusting in the strands just above his forehead. "Why were you doing that? You know you're a disaster in the kitchen."
He shrugged. "You love cookies."
Clary laughed, working on a particularly glued together chunk of hair. "I do, but I also would like to not die in a house fire."
"You've seemed sad. I just wanted to make you feel better."
Clary froze, the smile slipping from her face. Had she been that transparent the last few days? Things had been . . . strange ever since they'd returned from the country, but she thought she'd been covering pretty well. "Have I?"
Simon looked up, stretching to full height. "Maybe not to some, but I know you."
She sighed and turned to the sink washing the remnants of dough from under her fingernails. "I'm okay, Si. You don't need to worry about me."
"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about me. I promised I'd punch him if he hurt you, and since he hasn't been around all week, I'm assuming my fist is going to need to meet his jaw soon."
"He's just been busy with school and family stuff," Clary said, her voice quiet and unconvincing even to her own ears. Those were the excuses Jace had given her for being scarce, but that didn't explain why, when he was around, he didn't touch or kiss her beyond niceties. A peck to the cheek. A brushing of hair away from her face. They were sweet and nice, but they weren't him. They weren't them. She pressed her palms to the edge of the sink and leaned into them, closing her eyes.
"Uh-huh. Too busy to come see his girlfriend in four days?"
Clary lifted her hand to rub her forehead. "I don't know. I don't know anything, Simon. Something seems wrong, but he says there's nothing. I can't . . . I don't know what else to do. I can't make him talk to me."
"You can withhold sex," he offered with a one-shouldered shrug.
She laughed, even though it wasn't funny. "He won't even kiss me; I don't think that would work."
"Okay. I really don't want to hear about your sex life."
"You suggested it. I was only telling you why it wouldn't help."
"But, I didn't mean for you to share!"
Clary sighed and glanced down at the dirty dishes lying in the bottom of the sink. Two bowels, two spoons, a knife, and for some reason, the beaters from the electric mixer. Why would Simon need those for ready-made dough? And then she spied the mess of flour near the trashcan. Apparently, he'd tried to make them from scratch first. Her heart swelled at the thought. "I wouldn't share that anyway, Simon. I . . . I don't really want to talk about this, okay?"
And she didn't. All she'd been doing the entire week was thinking about it. Asking herself why Jace was avoiding her. Why he wouldn't touch her, kiss her, hold her. It was confusing and frustrating. She just wanted a moment to not dwell on it. For something to distract her long enough so that she could smile a real, genuine smile. To not feel this ominous ache right in the center of her chest.
"Well, what do you want to do then?"
Clary closed her eyes and held her breath, letting it out in a gush. She wanted to do anything but think about Jace, but nothing seemed to be able to distract her from him. Turning back around, she faced Simon. "I think I'm just gonna go lie back down—in my room. I'm sorry, I'm just crabby today."
"Hmm, I think I have a better idea." Simon whipped his iPod out of his pocket, his forehead scrunched in concentration, and then a big smile spread over his face when he found what he was searching for. Looking up at her, he smirked, and the first beats of a song came from the device.
Clary gasped. "No, Simon. No." She shook her head and moved toward him, her arms outstretched and fingers grasping for his iPod.
He nodded, singing the first lyrics of the song, slightly off tune, but decent enough that it would be recognizable, "Ohhhwoahohohhhohoh."
She took another step. "You know I hate that song! It gets stuck in my head and won't leave."
Simon ignored her and walked backward, running into one of the kitchen chairs and reaching out to grab it, steadying himself before he fell. "Ohhhwoahohohhhohoh."
"I will seriously kill you if you don't stop!"
He stepped backwards onto the chair and stumbled up on the table, his eyes never leaving hers as he towered above her. When the beat picked up, he started moving in wild, jerky movements, belting the lyrics. "You know you love me. I know you care. Just shout whenever and I'll be there."
"Simon!" she screeched, clambering up the chair and onto the table after him.
Simon laughed, held his iPod above his head, and continued with his torture. "You want my love. You want my heart. And we will never, ever, ever be apart."
"Oh, I will have your heart and then I will impale it! Gimme!" She swiped fruitlessly for his hand, wanting the noise to stop, but also not being able to stop the grin pulling at her lips.
"Are we an item? Girl, quit playin'." He waggled his finger in front of his face and then pushed her hands away. "We're just friends? What are you sayin'?" His eyes opened wide as if he were shocked. "Said there's another. Look right in my eyes—"
"Siiiiiiimooooon!" Clary half whined, half laughed. "You're killing me."
He grinned and leaned in, one hand still extended above his head. His dark eyes met hers, and for a split second, grew serious. "But, you're finally smiling."
Clary's grin faltered, and she realized she felt happy. For the first time in almost five days, she felt happy.
"Come on." Simon held out one hand, while placing his iPod on top of the cabinet. Cocking his head to the side, he grinned. "You know you wanna."
She reached out and slapped her palm to his. "Only you could get me to dance to this crap."
He twirled her around clumsily on the small tabletop. "I think you secretly love it."
Clary stopped and stared hard at him. "I do not love it. I hate it." She paused. "But I love you."
Simon threw his head back and let out a noise that sounded like a mixture of his lips vibrating together and air whistling between his teeth. "Who wouldn't?"
"Do you want a list?"
"Shut up." He pressed his fingertips to her sternum and shoved her away, beginning his serenade again. "Baby, baby, baby ohhhhhhhh. Like baby, baby, baby noooooooooo. Like baby, baby, baby ohhhhhhhhhh. Thought you'd always be mine. Mine."
Clary laughed again, wanting to smash his iPod and hug him with equal measure. Instead, she danced, side-by-side, up on the table with her best friend. They took turns doing the stupidest moves they could think of, while simultaneously trying not to fall of the tiny round piece of furniture.
After awhile, Simon took her hand again and pulled her to him, clumsily dipping her. Standing in the door frame to the kitchen was an upside-down Isabelle, her head cocked and brows furrowed. "What the hell are you two doing?"
Simon didn't pull Clary up and just let her hang there. "Dancing. What does it look like?" he said.
"On the table? And what is that God-awful racket you're listening to?"
Finally, Simon righted Clary, but he kept her hand in his and his other along her lower back. "Hey, no judging our choice of cheer-up music. It's all your cousin's fault that she's—"
Simon's words cut off when Jace's tall form stepped in beside Isabelle. His eyes traveled right to Simon's hand at Clary's back, and then up to meet hers. She felt her heart speed just seeing him.
"Hey," she said lamely, trying to step back from Simon, but feeling his fingers pull her back in protectively.
"Hey," Jace said, his gaze traveling back to Simon's hand. "Have you replaced me as your dance partner?"
Clary opened her mouth to respond, but Simon interrupted. "It's not like you've had much interest in doing anything, least of all dancing, with her lately anyway."
"Simon," Clary hissed. "No."
"And you just thought you'd step in and fill my shoes, is that it?"
"When you disappear and give lame excuses, yeah, someone needs to take care of her." Simon stepped up next to Clary, and then shoved her behind him. She nearly stumbled off the back of the table, reaching out to grab his belt loops to steady herself.
"Oh, Jesus," Isabelle added with an eye roll, "are we up to the chest thumping portion of the evening now?"
"Certainly not," Jace said, his face slipping back into a careless mask. "We all know who would come out the winner if that ever happened anyway."
Clary climbed down onto the chair closest to her and moved toward Jace, looking over her shoulder at Simon, narrowing her eyes. "And you both know how much I don't need anyone to look after me, so this is a moot point anyway."
He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, not moving from his position on top of the table. Clary scowled at him before turning back to Jace. He glanced down at her, his eyes lighting for just a moment before going dark again. She sighed inside. Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and dragged him out into the hallway, out of earshot of the others.
"I thought you were going to some family thing with Isabelle and Alec?"
"I am." He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "She needed to come pick up a few things for Maryse before we go meet Alec and head over there."
"I thought that's where you were this morning."
"This morning I was working out with Alec."
"Oh," she said, moving closer and reaching out to take his hand. "Will I see you tonight?"
He bit his bottom lip and averted his gaze. "I'm not sure. Depends on when we get back. It might be late."
"Jace . . ."
"I'm sorry, Clary. What do you want me to do? I have obligations other than you, you know?"
Clary jerked back as if he'd slapped her across the face, and jerked her hand away from his. "Well, excuse me for wanting to spend a little time with my boyfriend. Who, may I add, I've hardly seen for five days."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I've just been busy, okay? What more do you want me to say?"
Finally, she couldn't stand the distance between them any longer. She moved in front of him, took his face in her hands, and made him look at her. Quietly, she said, "I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me, 'I'll see you later, baby,' like you used to."
He stared down at her, a storm of emotion swirling behind his golden irises. They moved from one of hers to the other, his breathing shallow and strained. She could feel the tension in his jaw. Reaching up, he took her wrists in his hands, lightly, his fingers so warm and gentle.
Clary closed her eyes for a moment, and shakily breathed out the word, "Please," before opening them again. "I need you, Jace."
He turned his face slightly, his lips brushing her open palm, but not kissing. More than anything she wanted to feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her, his breath flowing across her skin, but all she got was that tiny movement. Just a momentary swipe.
Isabelle emerged from her room into the hall carrying a large box in her arms. "Ready?" she asked Jace.
Clary looked up at him and watched everything fade away. Each small flicker, gone.
"Yeah," he said. "I'll be right there."
She nodded and breezed past them into the hallway. "Later, Clary," she called over her shoulder.
"Later." Clary turned back to Jace. He had dropped her hands. She looked up at him, and this time at least, he didn't look away.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'll try. Okay?"
She nodded, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. The thing was, she didn't really know what he would try to do. Come over later? Talk to her? Touch her? Love her?
As he moved toward the door, he reached over, tucking a few loose tendrils behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her cheek. The warmth of him made her tremble with need for more. God, how she wished he'd open his palm, lay it against her cheek, and just let her feel him. Just for a little while. She leaned into his fingertips . . . and then he was gone. Only cold, dead space remained where he'd stood. Clary's eyes stung with threatening tears as the door closed with a small click behind him.
.o.O.o.
The fatigues were starched and heavy against Jace's skin. He'd never minded the scratchy material before, but then again, he'd always viewed them as an accomplishment, an honor. Now, they felt like a prison. A thing that had him trapped within confines he no longer wanted to be in. But there was no way out. No way to rectify what he had wronged.
Alec and Isabelle sat to either side of him, engaged in a conversation he had no interest in listening to. He hadn't participated, even when they addressed him directly. He wasn't in the mood to discuss what was going on with him and Clary—or, rather with him alone.
Isabelle had asked as soon as they got away from the apartment, but Jace had just shrugged her off. He couldn't explain this need to distance himself. But with everything inside him, he couldn't be with her right now. Just looking into Clary's face reminded him of how much she was going to hate him. How much he had screwed everything up. And how much he wished he could take it away.
Somewhere in the selfish part of his mind, he'd realized he still had the days leading up to the ball. In those days, she was still his. She still wanted him, loved him. And he knew it hurt her to see him pull away, but he didn't know how else to protect either of them from what was coming. All he knew was that every moment he was with her, he wanted to tell her. Everything. Wanted to let it all out, purging his soul and infecting hers. He wouldn't let that happen, not yet. She didn't deserve to feel the betrayal and pain longer than she needed to. At least, that's how he rationalized his actions to himself. Isabelle just told him he was being a douche. Maybe that was true.
The heavy oak door on the opposite side of the room opened, and the same girl who'd met them for their last meeting came out. "Agents Lightwood, Herondale," She nodded to each of them, her blond hair pulled up into a tight bun at the back of her head. Piercing green eyes stared into each of them pointedly. "They're ready for you." She shifted to the side, and gestured for them to enter.
Alec stood first, followed by Isabelle. Jace drew in a steadying breath and rose slowly. He tucked his hat under his arm and followed them through the doors. The three of them stood in a line at attention, eyes forward, legs together, hands at their sides.
"At ease." Maryse's voice silenced the room.
Jace took one step out so that his legs were shoulder width apart, and clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes finding her blue ones across the room. She gestured to three chairs situated in a row front of them—the only three on that side of the room—facing the congregation of twenty or so behind Maryse.
"Have a seat, Agents."
Jace, Isabelle, and Alec took their respective chairs without speaking, sitting simultaneously as they were taught in training. Maryse did not sit, but instead stood in front of the group behind her, her body clothed in a deep blue power suit. Her hair was pulled up in the customary bun, and even though Isabelle wore fatigues instead of a suit, she was the perfect image of her mother.
Maryse held a small, slender object resembling a ruler in her hand and slapped it against her palm repeatedly. The smack, smack, smack was the only sound in the room. She paced for a moment, her eyes fixed on the floor in front of her as if she were organizing what she wanted to say. Finally, she stopped and turned to the three waiting Agents.
"Tomorrow night marks the culmination of all of your hard work. Are you ready?"
Jace swallowed, unable to answer because his response would undoubtedly be, "No." How could he be ready to lose the one thing that had ever meant anything to him?
Alec answered instead. "Yes, Ma'am. We're ready."
"Good." She nodded. "And, you are all prepared for your roles?"
Isabelle responded this time. "Agent Herondale and I will attend the ball with Miss Morgenstern and her friend Mr. Lewis. Agent Lightwood will be stationed nearby, keeping an eye on the happenings through security and our mics."
"Right," Maryse said, turning to collect a couple of small objects the size of ring boxes from one of the people behind her. She moved forward and placed one in each Jace's and Isabelle's hands.
Jace opened the lid, spying one tiny earbud and a lapel mic. He closed his eyes briefly and shut the lid before opening them again.
Maryse started pacing the room once more. "Agent Lightwood's contact at the Agency has confirmed that Mr. Morgenstern's deal will go down at the ball. Part of our case is that we need to catch him in action. We will be planting several operatives within the building for that express purpose." She gestured to a couple of dark-haired larger men in the far right-hand corner. "Agent's Blackwell and Pangborn." She swiped her hand to the seat next to her. "Agent Madeline Bellefleur, and of course, myself. The rest of the people you see here will be in the near vicinity, ready to assist if necessary."
Jace's brows rose in surprise. It wasn't often the Director involved herself in the action. But, he supposed this wasn't a normal case, especially considering the added manpower in other locals.
"These will be your points of contact throughout the evening. Any questions you may have should be directed to them—though I don't recommend approaching them in public. Use the code on your phones and summon one of them to a private meeting place, if you must. You should not need to involve yourselves on their portion of the night's events. Keep your eyes on your client, she is your concern." She paused, swiping a hand down the front of her shirt, smoothing wrinkles that didn't exist. "Now, I would like to go over the specifics just in case anyone in the room is not quite clear. Miss Morgenstern will, at most times, be under the care of Agent Herondale." Her eyes settled on his. "I want you with her all night do you understand me, Agent?"
"What about when I retrieve the evidence?" Jace asked, speaking for the first time since he'd entered the building.
"Can't Miss Lightwood do that?"
Jace shook his head. "I'm the only one with the information, and," he added when he saw the Director's brow raise, "I believe the less people who know where to find it, the less of a chance we have of someone getting to it before we do."
Maryse didn't look thrilled with this plan, but Luke had entrusted this information to Jace, and he was determined to be the one to retrieve it. This evidence had Jocelyn's blood on it. It was what she'd died to bring to light. He would not let Clary's mother's—the one person in the entire world who had loved Clary enough to die for her—life be lost in vain.
"Very well," Maryse offered finally. "During the time in which Agent Herondale is occupied, Miss Morgenstern's well-being will fall to Agent Lightwood." Her eyes found Isabelle's. Isabelle nodded. "We are hoping things will move along smoothly and we can do what needs to be done without it causing much of a disturbance." Her eyes met Jace's. "But just in case it doesn't," she bent and retrieved three oblong containers under her seat and moved toward him, "use whatever force it takes to protect the evidence and your client. They must not fall into the wrong hands."
Jace reached out and took the box, his fingers shaking lightly as they wrapped around it, knowing what was inside. He flipped up the clasp on the front and tipped the hinged cover back. Nestled inside the velvet lining lay his Agency issued firearm. Shiny, cold, and black. His breath caught seeing it, touching it. Receiving the coveted Agency firearm was the peak of every achievement a Trainee could have. It was the last, and highly anticipated, step before receiving their permanent badge.
As if Maryse could hear his thoughts, she reached into the front pocket of her suit and drew out three slim, black, flip cases, handing one to each of them. Jace opened it, staring at his own face on the front of the badge, his throat nearly closing in on itself. The title, "Agent" occupied the space where "Trainee" donned his current one. He should have felt happy, proud, but looking at his official badge, all he felt was shame.
"Congratulations, Agents," Maryse said, her voice full of barely concealed pride, completely oblivious to what Jace was feeling. "You've earned it."
.o.O.o.
Clary lay on her bed, one hand under her cheek and the other twirling a pencil, round and round. Her sketchpad lay next to her, only a few curved lines and shaded patches on the open sheet. She couldn't concentrate enough to draw, the encounter with Jace earlier running through her mind over and over again.
Letting out an exasperated breath, she flipped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, noticing a few dead bugs trapped in the light fixture above her bed. Why was he pulling away? Did he not want her anymore? It didn't matter how many times he told her it wasn't her, his actions made her feel like it was. Why else would he refuse to see her, to touch her? Nothing else made sense.
Clary turned her face toward the nightstand next to the bed, the illuminated numbers on the clock mocking her. Eleven forty-nine. She closed her eyes. He wouldn't be coming tonight. Her chest tightened. God, did he have any idea how much she wanted him? Needed him? For just a little while, she needed to feel his arms around her, his heart beating against her chest, his breath in her hair. If she concentrated hard enough, she could remember what it felt like to have him wrapped around her, but thinking about it just made the ache and emptiness worse.
Just as she'd resolved herself to try to sleep, she heard the front door open and voices float down the hall to her room. One of the voices was deep, inviting, comforting. Bolting up in bed, she scrambled to throw on her pajama pants, and flung open her bedroom door. Isabelle and Simon turned to her, their eyes wide and mouths open in surprise.
"I thought you were sleeping," Simon said.
Clary's heart slammed in her chest, beating her ribs with the realization that Jace wasn't there. He'd never been there. It was Simon's voice she'd heard. She should have known. Anger ignited inside her.
"Where is he?" Her eyes fell to Isabelle, who looked at her with a slight bit of pity.
"Upstairs," she answered.
Clary nodded and moved forward, brushing past Simon and Isabelle and making her way toward the door.
"Clary—" Isabelle called, but Clary ignored her, flinging the door open and exiting out into the hallway.
She slammed it shut behind her, fully aware that it was late and she'd probably woken her neighbors, but she didn't care. Her feet padded along the dirty carpet as she hurried to the staircase at the end of the hall. Clary took the stairs two at a time, almost tripping twice. She made it to Jace's door less than a minute after leaving hers and pounded on it as hard as she could.
It only took a few seconds for it to swing open, a stunned Alec gazing down at her. Clary pushed past him and strolled into the apartment, her eyes set on Jace's shut bedroom door. She didn't stop or turn around when she heard Alec calling her name. There was only one person she wanted to talk to, and he was just within her grasp.
Blood sailed through her veins, the sound of it a rush in her ears. Every nerve in her body was coiled tight and ready to break. Clary didn't pause before pushing his door open, the knob smacking the wall with the force of her shove.
Jace stood at his dresser, turning around, eyes wide, when she burst in. "Clary? What are you—"
She reached behind her and slammed the door. Narrowing her eyes, she pointed at him. "Don't you ask me what I'm doing, what are you doing?"
He held up the pair of shorts in his hands. "Jammies?"
Clary crossed her arms over his chest. "You know what I'm talking about, Jace."
Jace sighed and closed his dresser drawer, dropping the shorts on top. "I thought you'd be asleep."
"Bullshit."
He raised a brow. "Bullshit?"
"Yes," she nodded, "bullshit. You know damn well I wanted to see you and I would wait up for you."
"I told you I didn't know if I would come."
"God, Jace. What the hell is going on with you? Why are you avoiding me?"
"I'm not—"
"Don't lie to me." She took a step forward. "I'm not a child. Whatever you have to say, I can handle it. If you want out, just say so. Don't jerk me around, ignoring me and making me feel like crap. Tell me."
He looked down at the floor and drew in a breath. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Then, what are you doing? Please, help me understand what's going on here. Talk to me."
He just shook his head.
"Damn it, Jace, just—"
"I don't know! All right?" he shouted. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I don't—God-damn it!" He spun around, placing his hands against the top of his dresser and leaning against them. "I don't know," he said quieter.
"Jace . . ." She moved a little closer.
"Please, Clary." His voice cracked. "Please don't. I can't do this right now. You should go."
Her heart broke at the sound of his voice, at the pain behind it. "I'm not going anywhere."
He hung his head, his muscles going rigid under the tight wifebeater clinging to him. His jeans hung low on his hips, his body putting off every vibe for her to stay away. But she couldn't, she wouldn't.
Clary stepped up behind him, reaching up to lay her hands on his shoulders. He stiffened under her touch, but she didn't move away. A car horn blared outside, and wind rattled against the window pane. Leaning in, she touched her forehead to his back, nestling into the space between his shoulder blades.
"Please," she whispered, brushing her lips over his skin, once, twice, again and again. "Please. Let me in. Let me be here. Just . . . let me love you." Her hands slipped down his arms, feeling every contour of every muscle under her fingers. His warmth seeped into her as she pressed her chest against his back. Heat so hot it threatened to set her on fire. "Let me."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Jace shook his head. "Because I don't deserve it."
"Yes, you do."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't," he said with more force, his voice rising as he whipped around and grabbed her, spinning her until her back was pressed against the dresser. The hard, round drawer-pulls dug into her flesh, but she tried not to wince. He was touching her, and even though it hurt, she didn't want him to stop. His hand gripped her hip and the other tangled in her hair. His chest rose and fell in fast, uneven breaths and he clenched his eyes tightly shut. "I don't," he repeated.
Clary swallowed hard. "You do," she said shakily. Lifting her hands, she slid them up his neck and cradled his face. "I love you. Of course you do."
"Please don't say that," he begged. "Please don't."
She leaned in, placing a small kiss to the base of his throat, feeling his pulse hammer against her lips. "I love you," she whispered again. "I'll always love you."
Jace made a sound, a whimper, a cry, Clary didn't know how describe it. But his arms circled her body and he fell to his knees, bringing her with him. He sat back on his heels and she straddled his legs, her fingers tracing the pained lines of his face. She wished she could erase them, smooth them out and make him whole again. His eyes had remained closed, but now, they opened slowly, and Clary gasped at the anguish staring back at her.
"I can't do it anymore," he said, his voice strained. "I just can't do it anymore."
"Do what?"
"Act like I don't care, like I don't want you. Like I don't love you." The defeat in his words was staggering. "Doing that is like depriving myself of air. Of telling myself I'm no longer allowed to breathe." He stared up at her, exhaustion and surrender radiating off from him. "I need to breathe. Please, let me breathe."
Clary wanted to ask him why he'd been acting that way in the first place. Why he thought he needed to. But in that moment, looking into his eyes and seeing the way he pleaded with her, she decided that those questions could wait until later.
Tipping her head down, she rested her forehead against his, her fingers ghosting along his stubble-lined jaw. His eyes locked on hers, asking, wanting, needing. Lifting her chin just slightly, she touched her lips to his. "Breathe, baby," she whispered.
Jace's hands drew up her sides, slowly following her ribs, tortuously making their way over her shoulders, and trailing along the side of her neck. He cupped her cheeks and pulled her back just slightly, looking into her eyes. She watched as they studied her, almost as if it were the last time they would ever see her. "I will never deserve you," he spoke carefully, pressing a finger to her lips and quieting her when she tried to protest, tracing them lightly as he drew it away. "But I promise, if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to."
Before Clary had a chance to respond, his lips were on hers, soft and gentle at first. His fingers slipped into her hair, lightly pushing it away as he cradled her face. She let her hands run over his shoulders, wrapping around his biceps, feeling them flex and release as he pulled her impossibly closer. But even as her body aligned with his, hips to hips, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, she still wasn't near enough. His mouth parted slightly and Clary took the opportunity to taste him, slipping her tongue between his lips. Mint and vanilla and Jace exploded around her. Suddenly, it was if she'd been starving and he'd finally offered her food. And she wanted more and more and more.
Her heart raced in her chest, and all she knew was the taste of him on her tongue, the smell of him wrapping around her like the most decadent scent in existence, and the feel of him, hard and strong under her fingers. He was all she wanted. He was all she ever wanted. His hands stayed on her face, but his mouth moved with hers, keeping up with her demands and her whispered pleas for more.
In answer to her request, he slipped his hand around to the back of her neck, and wrapped the other around her waist, quickly twisting them both around until she lay on the floor, with him hovering over her. Carpet fibers scraped against her elbows, but she didn't care. All that mattered was him.
She tugged against his shirt, wanting to feel his skin, all of his skin under her fingers. He reached behind and pulled it off, breaking the kiss only to bring it over his head. Her fingertips danced over his collarbone and pecs and abs, feeling them move when he did. He was so warm. So, so warm.
Clary hooked her fingers through his belt loops and pulled him flush against her. Their bodies collided, skin slipping over skin, fingers, hands, and lips exploring. It felt so good and so right to touch him that way, and to have him touch her.
Somehow, in the midst of everything, her clothes were gone and so were his. He was above her, around her, inside her. Moving, feeling, kissing, loving. His body taking hers, and hers receiving his. His hands and mouth and tongue were everywhere, but never anywhere. Everywhere he touched, her skin came alive, the sensation unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She couldn't get enough, have enough, feel enough.
Her fingers dug into his back and her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, harder, deeper. She arched her back, partially in pleasure and partially to avoid the rough carpet below. Reading her mind, Jace tucked his hands under her and pulled her up onto his lap, his fingers now digging into her hips as she moved above him. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair, holding his face to hers, devouring his mouth, swallowing his breath. Clary dropped her head back as his hands moved to the small of her back and his lips lowered to her throat, sucking her flesh into his searing, wet mouth. Nothing existed but the slick warmth of each other's skin, the hot, ragged, panting breaths, hands and lips and tongues and teeth, moving over each other without course. They danced this dance to the perfect music only they could make together. Clary was certain it would never be this way with someone else. She never wanted it to be anyone else. Only his hands and his tongue and his teeth. Only his body pressed up against and moving with hers. Only Jace. Only ever Jace. Desire and sensation were all they knew, were all they needed to know as the rest of the world continued to spin without them.
Before long, they were both out of breath, clinging to each other's sweat dampened, exhausted bodies. Clary ran her fingers through the hair at the side of Jace's head, pushing the wet strands away from his face. She kissed a line along his jaw to his ear. God, she'd missed him so much.
Jace shuddered and Clary brushed it off as a shiver, but it didn't stop like a chill. She slid her hands down his shoulders and across his back, feeling the tense shaking in his body. It wasn't until she heard the soft, tortured intake of breath that she realized this wasn't a chill at all.
"Jace," she said, touching her fingers to his cheek and feeling dampness against her skin. But it wasn't the sticky, hot dampness of sweat. It was slick and tepid, like tears. Panic flooded her chest. She tried lifting his face but he just buried his nose harder into her shoulder. Clary closed her eyes, her throat swelling with concern. "Tell me what's wrong," she whispered.
For what seemed like the longest seconds of Clary's life, Jace didn't speak. His arms tightened around her, the trembling never lessening. After a moment, he began to rock, slowly, gently, just holding her to him. His breath puffed against her in uneven, jerking bursts, but made no noise. The only things Clary could hear were the beat of her heart racing in her chest, and the sound of her own breathing pulling raggedly through her teeth.
She turned her face into his hair, breathing him in as she threaded her fingers through the back of it. "Please," she asked again. "Please let me in."
"I love you," was all he said, his voice strained and muffled by her shoulder, the words barely making a sound. "I love you." Even though he had spoken that same phrase to her multiple times before, this time it was different. This time, it felt like an apology.
Clary couldn't understand why it would be an apology, why he would ever feel like he needed to be sorry for loving her. She decided she must have been imagining the sorrow in his voice as he'd spoken them. But still, his body shook as he curled around her, digging his fingers into the flesh of her back, gripping her firmly against him. This man—a man who had always been so strong, so confident—was falling apart in front of her. She wanted to know why, wanted to help, but he wasn't going to let her. At least, not now. Clary didn't know what to say or do, so she did the only thing she could. She tightened her embrace, tucked her face into his neck, and let him break in her arms.
Thank you to my wonderful beta, Lightlacedwithbeauty. I love you, as always.
Two weeks, my lovelies.
XOXO ~ddpjclaf
**Lyrics to the song "Baby" belong to Justin Bieber.